Solamen. (An As Above, So Below Story)
Gratia. Charitas. Solamen.
Grace. Charity. Peace.
The oath of the Knights of the Holy Order.
Summary: You and Eddie--separated by time and endless suffering--don't realize how many strings keep you connected on the web of fate. What players are there trying to cut those strings? And when will you both find out that they are unbreakable?
Word Count: 8k
Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight - Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)
Warnings/Themes: Soulmates, Kas!Eddie, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Minor Character Deaths, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Violence, Gore, Disturbing Imagery, Philosophical Ideas, Supernatural Encounters, Religious Elements, Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References
Note: Special thanks to @somnambulic-thing for listen to me as I tied myself into a knot with all of my Pepe Silvia string and helping me untie it all. Love you so very much.
AND IM NOT GONNA TAG HIM BECAUSE HOW EMBARRASSING but thanks Mike Flanagan for the "a ghost is a wish" line that I absolutely ripped off.
You can find my masterlist here.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
"That's just the heart talking, you can never trust those. Pick a more stable organ to listen to, like the spleen, or the gallbladder."
- Joan Tierney
November 6, 1983
Eddie woke to something tugging at his leg, pinching the flesh between deft fingers, but not piercing the skin.
Then whispers.
Unintelligible whispers that moved about him fluidly, like a wave. Maybe it was a wave because a sudden flood of memories, both good and bad, rushed over him; nightmares perhaps? They almost didn't feel like they were even his, but he knew that they were.
Driving the van for the first time, his first campaign as a DM, your first kiss.
He felt as though he was underwater.
Underwater, something biting him, tear-filled words as he lay dying in the desolate waste of the Upside Down.
“Eddie, wake up,” you whispered frantically in his ear.
He heard his own voice then. Or a memory of it, at least.
I don’t like this Chrissy, wake up! Flashing lights, snapping bones, and a sickening wet crunch.
He gasped as his consciousness slammed into him heavily, the remnants of fear from his past life ripping through the din to bring him back to the waking world.
The memories of falling and crashing soon followed and he observed his surroundings.
A crater.
It was the only way to describe the pit he’d created upon impact. A large divot in the ground with a lip of toxic earth and his body curled at the bottom, and as he forced his body to crawl out of it, he saw the spray of soil that had rained over the surrounding landscape.
And what a strange landscape it was.
Empty.
There was nothing as far as the eye could see in any direction. Just a flat, silty plain and a roiling, lightning-filled sky.
There were no creatures, no trees...he couldn't even see Hawkins, which he recalled flying over before he'd been struck by, well, whatever that was that knocked him out.
He'd been soaring over treetops, calling out to the bats to join him.
How had he ended up in such a vast emptiness as this?
The whispers returned, a ripple of them that shifted and moved around him, the source invisible. He growled instinctively, hackles raised; was someone or something trying to intimidate him? The rebellious beings that turned against their master? Had they learned a new trick?
Or was this something else? He already had one invisible enemy, one pest that tried to undermine Henry at every turn. Was this trap by your design?
The whispers closed in on him--he could feel them even if he couldn't see them, in numbers immeasurable--and he roared in warning, spittle flying from his mouth as his jaw unhinged, and the chittering blast of sound echoed into the void space.
He startled when your lips caressed his ear and the weight of you settled against his back, arms winding around his neck to hold him back.
"We need to go," you warned him, but he just hissed at you.
The whispers got louder, closer. From the din, he started to make out voices. Familiar voices. More memories. Talking to him, begging him.
Chrissy at the picnic table.
Patrick calling him a freak in the hallway.
Mr. Newby excitedly telling him about a new stereo he saved up for a year to buy.
They all chanted his name, just like you did. It swirled around him.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie help us. Please help us.
"Eddie listen to me," you tried again. "We need to go."
He roared again, and felt triumphant when the whispers went silent.
But there was one last whisper, one more phantom, that was bold. Brave. He felt it walk right up to him. Tall, proud, toe to toe, nose to nose; it stretched to match his height.
He growled to intimidate it but felt it square itself resolutely. You tightened your arms around his neck, almost to hold him back.
"Don't," you told him, but it was too late.
He slashed a claw outwards to try and bat the whispering phantom away. He cut through it and felt the whoosh of air between his talons.
And must have been a trick of the light, a trick of the mind--one of your tricks--but there was a flash of a reflection of his own eyes right before him. Staring into his soul.
He blinked and it was gone.
You tightened your grip, then sighed and sunk through him, into him, back into the pit once more.
He was about to gloat, about to taunt you--he wasn't Eddie Munson anymore, he wasn't going to fall for your little games--but it was cut short as a roar that rivaled his in strength and volume echoed from just beyond the horizon.
Determined, he took to the skies again, ready to put an end to whatever other tricks you orchestrated so he could return to his master, victorious.
November 14, 1986
When you came to, you were on the ground.
Not tied up or restrained in any way.
In fact, when you finally got a good hold of your senses, you realized you weren't wearing any clothes either.
"What the...what the fuck?" You startled yourself into a sitting position and looked down at your faded Maidenform bra and Hanes Her Way underwear that you got on clearance at K-mart with Eddie oh so long ago.
You jumped as he suddenly appeared before you--the anger at your unconsented state of undress forgotten--ghastly and ghostly, looking like he did when you jumped into the passenger's seat of the van. Smug smile, love in his eyes, hair mussed from too much headbanging.
"Did you get me anything?" his voice echoed. He wiggled his fingers like he had when he tried to peek inside of your plastic shopping bag, where you did indeed have candy for him.
You didn't even have a chance to wrench your eyes shut, so shocked that you were to see him there, before he vanished.
Your heartbeat roared in your ears as your breathing became rapid and shallow. Your eyes darted around to try and find him once again, as though he'd simply transmuted somewhere behind you--you were used to his vanishing acts...his unseen presence, but this? This was different—you knew that immediately—but found yourself alone.
Alone in a cold, dark room with only the moonlight above to illuminate the dirt floor and dead ivy that climbed the stone walls. You could hear the chittering of bugs and flapping wings of bats in the dark; creatures of unknown origin lurking in the darkness, waiting to strike.
You realized where you were rather quickly--
The vision that the boy had shown you. The cell. The Harrowing.
--and knew that you needed to find a way out immediately.
The witches had already gotten some sort of advantage by capturing you; you wouldn't let them kill you too. You would die on your own terms when you were good and ready.
You shifted to a kneeling position and reached down to let your hands scrape along the dirt floor. You cast yourself forward, consciousness seeping into the Earth to try and find a break in the stone. You knew there must be a door here...it was just too dark to see.
"Show me," you demanded.
"Show you?" Another voice rasped from the shadows. "What's the use when you refuse to look?"
It was not Eddie's voice this time, and pain lanced through your chest, directly into your heart as you recognized it.
Your eyes watered as you fought the urge to look up, as a figure leaned into the moonlight in the corner of your eye. Grey hair, weathered skin, a delicate golden crucifix around her neck. You knew your Nonna wasn't there; no, you watched them put her body behind a wall. Felt a part of her soul settle there, to rest, for eternity.
You didn’t look up, steeled yourself for the fact that even though it sounded like her, it couldn’t be her. She was gone. She was dead. As much as it pained you to acknowledge.
Nonna was gone. Eddie was gone. You were alone. And no one was going to save you here unless you saved yourself.
You shook and dug your fingernails into the dirt, demanding the very stone around show you the way out, all while Nonna's phantom spouted chastising words, about how you never listened to her when she told you to pray and repent and thank God for this and that.
"Your eyes can deceive you," you muttered aloud as a reminder. "Don't trust them."
Nonna inched closer and closer to you, and your breath hitched as you felt the softness of her hand as she reached out and cupped your cheek. You shut your eyes and leaned into it for a moment; it felt just like her hand.
Gentle but calloused from years of labor, you swore you even felt the indentation in her fingers from the beads of the rosary she usually had clutched in her hands.
Maybe if you wished hard enough…
"Tesoro…amore…prayer won't help you here," she tutted.
You grit your teeth in anger and clenched your hands, nails splintering against the hard ground. Your eyes opened to stare straight ahead of you into the darkness.
“My grandmother went and saw Star Wars with me in the theater, you know.” You spoke with as much confidence as you could muster. The softness of Nonna’s hand vanished, as did she. “She was well-versed in the ways of the Force.”
You stared into the darkness, unblinking, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally the darkness broke and a heavy wooden door opened, creaking inwards towards you, until light cascaded into the cell and revealed a man with slicked-back hair and elfin features. His eyes were like fire as he stared down at you, hatred and challenge burned there.
“You’re stronger than you look,” he sneered judgmentally. “Many minds have been broken by this place.”
“What do they say about tv melting your brain?” you spat right back at him. "I've watched too much; my mind is already gone."
He chuckled darkly.
“I wouldn’t know such mortal mechanisms as…teevee.”
“Oh you’re one of those kinds of witches.”
“Warlock,” he corrected. He was one of those kinds of men too. You wondered, disgusted, if he stripped you of your clothes himself to get a kick of your potential humiliation. Or if even that was above him. “And what might you be?”
“I’m a pain in the ass,” you smiled mockingly. “You should have just slit my throat if you wanted to kill me. Or is that too much of a mortal mechanism too?”
He swiftly lowered himself to kneel in front of you, black clothes billowing, and grabbed your face in one hand. His sharp nails dug into your cheeks viciously, drawing blood if the telltale pinch was anything to go by.
You felt him pull truths from you, information ingrained in your blood--Jinette, the Knights, the curse, your mission, Edward Spellman. It might have alarmed you, how easily he was taking it, but it was such a simple trick.
Two could play at that game.
You watched and waited as his eyes became unfocused, as he lost control taking thoughts and memories from you. Then, when he was nice and distracted, you reared back and punched him across that sharp cheekbone and nose, putting all of your heavenly force into it.
He let go of you at the impact and fell to the side, but you got what you needed. A little bit of blood smeared across your knuckles.
And then you saw.
The man--Faustus Blackwood--the Church of Night, the Academy of Unseen Arts, the Witches of Greendale and their historic persecution, the Dark Baptisms. And at the epitome of it all...two figures standing head to head…
A roar outside the door of the cell broke you from your thoughts and you froze, knowing.
Blackwood abruptly got to his feet and spat blood at you as he sneered, "I would kill you for that...but you’re worth more alive than dead, unfortunately.”
He stormed out of the cell without any other hesitation, and you were alone again.
Waiting. Anticipating.
There was no need for intimidation tactics really, but he apparently had an affinity for drama.
He stepped into the light and you saw the cloven hoof on one leg, the very human-like torso draped in a billowing black cloak, and the goat-like head with ears that twitched as he laid his eyes on you.
You had to admit, your emotions spiked a little bit at the sight, and as the door to the cell slammed shut behind him. Fear, confusion, annoyance, and that ever-present feeling of grief.
Maybe those were just the things that made you up as a person. Instead of joy or anything l truly good. He brought them right to the surface; not like you could lie to him.
Well, you were probably not as afraid as you should have been. You knew that. And he did too, as you swore you heard a snort from him.
But it wasn't every day that you faced your fate.
It wasn't every day you found yourself face to face with the Devil.
"Took you long enough," you greeted.
November 6, 1983
He flew for as long as he could and then pushed himself to fly further, following the massive roar until it became the constant din of roars and chitters and screeches--many beasts voices combined to form one.
He flew until he found something again in the barren void in the outskirts of the Upside Down.
It was surprising to find that there wasn't even a blue tinge to the sky anymore out here, but instead a dingy yellow hue. Glowing and golden, with, what he believed to be, shooting stars soaring across the murky atmosphere. Where he'd gotten used to order and obedience in the mirrored version of Hawkins, this...this...was wild and untamed.
It was full of possibility and promise.
For a brief moment, deep down inside, right next to where you resided in the pit, curiosity bloomed.
Was this the potential that the Upside Down had when it wasn't wrangled and tethered by Henry? Was this the potential that he had?
He snarled at the intrusive thought, sure that you were the cause of it; he needed to focus, to stay loyal to Henry. He had a job to do here; he had to restore order.
He powered onwards and soared over a crowd of creatures on the uneven ground below. They were emaciated and writhing, howling and digging and fighting.
It wasn't like the playful or bored fights he witnessed at the quarry; this was a survival of the fittest. Limbs were ripped off, throats torn, blood shed. And the winner had the explicit honor of absorbing the writhing mass of parts that the loser left behind.
Off in the distance he could see the partially formed behemoth of a creature. No life breathed into it yet, just a lump of meat with one leg here and a malformed head.
Images flashed in his mind, courtesy of Henry, of the Mindflayer forming from citizens of Hawkins. Their flesh melted to form the beast, just like his brethren below melted into one another to form a new Mindflayer.
Just like they'd sacrificed themselves for his new form.
He felt electricity deep within his flesh, his bones, his wings as like called to like.
He couldn't help but feel some sort of betrayal; its origins were unknown and he couldn't quite discern what the feeling meant.
Was it a betrayal of the creatures who used to believe Henry to be their leader, who sacrificed themselves for him?
Or a betrayal within himself? The pieces of him that had been graciously given knew that he was a part of their flock, their swarm...the blood that kept his heart beating and his hunger at bay was the same as theirs...but he'd chosen Henry over them...
"Is that what they feel?" your question echoed within him, radiating from the depths of the pit outwards, to the very tips of his talons and back. It shook him to the core. "Or is that what you feel?"
However, he ignored you as he dropped to the ground, dry earth cracking beneath his feet, and let out a deafening, screeching cry to bring the mass of creatures to order.
The hive mind was still unavailable to him--to all of them, it seemed--but he was still the strongest of them all, the most dangerous predator. They all stilled at his call, like a shockwave radiating outwards from him.
He turned on his heel, glaring at the massive congregation of creatures. Some of the dogs pawed at the ground; the petal-like heads of the demogorgons opened and closed at will, blood dripping from the thousands of teeth embedded in their maws. He didn’t need the hive mind to know what they were thinking, considering; he knew what it looked like when they were gearing up for an attack.
He snarled at them all, chastising them, warning them...
One warning; it was all they got. Just like his uncle used to tell him.
But one stupid creature got the courage to challenge him and it roared, a shrill sound from somewhere beyond his line of sight, and the others soon followed. Until he was surrounded by another cacophony of sound that caused the air to vibrate and the ground to rumble.
There was safety in numbers; he knew. He could overpower them individually without much trouble, but against the sheer mass of them? Could he win? Could he survive?
He dug his heels into the ground, tucked his wings tightly against his body, and hissed, accepting the challenge.
He silently apologized to Henry as he considered that this would be the most fun he would have in the Upside Down since he and Dustin had their…
His thoughts were cut short as one of the dogs raced towards him, mouth snapping, ready to strike. Only for him to strike first, claws cutting it to ribbons, easily tearing through its flesh until it thumped, dead in pieces on the ground around him.
Its comrades were soon to follow, a whole pack of them, and they got their pound of flesh out of him, biting and dragging their teeth into him. They sent his black blood spilling onto the ground with the wounds they inflicted. He powered through the pain, knowing he would heal.
What was pain to him when he was reborn of pain? When Henry had inflicted unimaginable agony onto him only to build him back stronger again?
He picked them off his body one by one, like the vermin that they were, cursing their betrayal—they had been his friends, his family in this new life—as he tore them apart.
More attacked, until it was an endless barrage of bodies and claws and teeth looking to tear into him, which resulted in what could only be described as untethered carnage. When he tired, he stoked his hunger by drinking deeply from the wounds he inflicted on them, taking his fill until he was ready to keep fighting.
He was filled with the determination to keep going until the last creature was dead at his feet, and he would have...he would have done it...
If only he hadn't looked up at the sky.
And saw it looking back down at him.
November 14, 1986
Your vision blurred and the devil's visage wavered in and out.
From goat, to that of a man with beautiful, sculpted features and dark curls. Back and forth a few times, smiling ever so gently at you. Finally he decided on the image of a man for his temptation of you.
Funny that he wouldn't make himself look like Eddie or Nonna again if he wanted to do that.
The cell door slammed shut and he sat beside you on the ground; he said your name carefully, as though he was tasting a fine wine for the first time.
"You're a funny little creature," he observed with a chuckle, dark undertones accentuating the depth of his accented voice. "My own disciples fear me but you...hmmm...you fear something else, I think."
"You don't spend much time on Earth do you? A Mongolian Death Worm is scarier than a Goat Man," you reasoned.
The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.
"You fear yourself." Your expression fell and he held a hand out innocently. "It's ok, I feared myself too for a time. After I was cast out of Heaven. My father and brothers feared me, so I must also fear myself. But I came to find that I was just...willful, and they didn't like that one bit."
You thought of Gabriel and his annoying stoicism, how he tried to keep you aligned with what fate had in store for you.
"Yes, you seem to be exceptionally willful too." He hummed in agreement, as though he could hear your thoughts. Maybe he could. "You and your forebearers. That's why you've found yourselves in the predicament you're in."
He leaned closer to you, his nose practically touching yours. His image wavered once more, and you smelled the brimstone on him. Much heavier than it had with Edward Spellman.
"That's why you've found yourselves doomed to an eternity with me," he smiled amicably and then slowly leaned back. "Why not let it be on your own terms."
Your eyes darted between his, and you questioned whether or not you could trick the Devil, if you could win against him in this game.
And if you did, would he just strike you down in retaliation?
"What do you get in return?" you asked.
"Another soul devoted to me," he said simply. "Instead of one I'm forced to punish. I really like it when mortals pray to me; the power is actually quite nice."
He took a deep breath in, shoulders squaring as he lavished in some unseen dark power. Then he exhaled and squinted at you.
"I'm being merciful, you see, because, I win either way; you're still mine, in the end. But isn't corruption fun? The hellfire tickles when it touches you instead of melting the flesh off your bones like it's currently doing to dear old Dad."
His eyes narrowed further when you didn't react.
"Or to Eddie."
You must have visibly reacted, some kind of shudder or blink that made him relax and smile again.
"See, that got you listening," he nodded self-assuredly. "I can smell the stink of grief on you.”
You gritted your teeth at the pang in your heart; Eddie…he wasn’t in Hell. He couldn’t be.
But how could you be sure?
“And denial,” He continued. “Faustus could too, actually, and he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. He doesn't have nearly as much power as he likes to pretend he does. He's losing control of his own congregation. They don't want to listen to him. No wonder you didn't fall prey to his torture either. No matter. You're here with me now."
The edges of the cell suddenly became alight with flames, a circle of them that trapped you and the Devil together.
They were not of this earth; you knew it immediately as they licked at your bare skin, but you gritted your teeth to the singe of pain that shot through you, refusing to move closer to him.
"Now, dear girl, what do you want?"
He tilted his head, and the motion felt strange and distorted. Contorted as it seemed to tilt further than a human's range of motion would allow.
"Do you simply want this curse gone? You can continue doing your good deeds on earth if you want, save the innocents. I don't mind. Oh that's a good bargain actually. Innocents slaughtered by darkness go to heaven; if you save them and they live to sin on their own, they'll end up with me. Let them suffer a little less so I can enjoy hearing them scream a little louder."
The longer you stayed near the fire though, the louder you heard screams of the damned from within it.
"Maybe you want revenge on those who put this silly curse on you in the first place. Your bishop friend hmm? Or whatever he is. We both know the dark deeds he's involved in."
Something wicked twinged within you, deep down in the little dark spot inside your soul. Your lips quirked as he projected images of Jinette screaming as you burned him alive.
You shook your head, physically trying to rid yourself of the thoughts.
No. You were good, you could break this curse yourself and you could still save people and you could make it to heaven. To Eddie.
"Ah, see, my mistake. How could I forget? How good is all of that," he asked knowingly. "When I'm forgetting something important? When there's something more delicious I can offer."
The devil's projections changed then. From revenge and damnation...to all of the decadent moments that you had with Eddie and then lost because of this stupid curse.
You whimpered at the thoughts, at the way they plucked at your heartstrings. Kisses and laughter and every secret, sweet moment between the two of you.
"Do you want your little boyfriend back?" he whispered. "The two of you could live forever with red vines and cherry pie and Dr. Pepper until the end of time. Immortality is something I offer all my disciples."
You felt your resolve weaken and tears built up in the corners of your eyes as you saw the two of you frolicking through the world until the end of the earth itself. You and Eddie and forever. You could almost reach out and touch it.
But how could he offer that to you if Eddie was beyond his grasp in Heaven. He had to be in Hell, as much as it destroyed you to believe.
"All you have to do," he held out his hand, "is say yes."
It would have been so easy to reach out and touch his hand, to ignore all of the red flags and to accept this offer. It was easy for all logic to leave you, all rational sense that you had. It was so tempting and you were so...so...tired.
But there was a small bit of movement in the corner of your eye, and you broke eye contact with the devil to see what he might have to show you now...only to find Gabriel there, hands held behind his back. He looked bored, like he usually did, and you almost felt smug at him having caught you like this.
You were tired. You were human. You weren't meant for these grand plans that fate had in store for you, that God seemingly had for you.
"Have you come to scold me?" you asked him wearily. "Or save me?"
"I'm here to prove that you still have much to learn," Gabriel sighed. “Very much to learn, it seems.”
Yes, you did...didn't you.
You snorted and hung your head in shame, finally allowing the tears to fall.
But the devil...the devil narrowed his eyes at you and turned to follow where your line of sight had been.
"Who are you talking to?" he asked with a snarl.
You scoffed and lifted your hand to gesture towards Gabriel.
"Surprise!" you exclaimed with faux excitement. "Family reunion."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, head darting back and forth between you and Gabriel.
Or rather, just left of Gabriel.
You watched as his head turned in confusion, as anger built up inside of him and the fires roared hotter, as his image darted in and out, in and out. Goat then man then something else...just a shadow.
Like the shadow that you'd seen in the woods.
You sniffed and wiped at your tears as you put two and two together. All of the inconsistencies that you ignored in the devil's stories, the misuses of names and symbols in the Academy, and now this...the fact that this so-called Lucifer--an archangel--might not be able to see Gabriel.
Devils lied, demons lied. They tricked and poisoned minds and hearts. They still had power and promises; this one had a whole slew of followers. He was their deity in one way or another, spoke as though he believed himself to be a fallen angel. Maybe he was a prince of Hell in some capacity, some pretending parasite whose ambition was the throne of the damned.
But was he the Devil himself? No.
None of these beliefs were as straightforward as they seemed; the universe was a riddle that you didn't have time or care enough to solve.
You also were a little rusty on your Lesser Key of Solomon.
Had he even known these things about your curse? About Nonna and Eddie? About your father and your knighthood? Or had it just been a simple skimming of your thoughts? Maybe even Blackwood's thoughts when he'd read your memories through your blood.
You thought back to the information you tried to ascertain from Blackwood in return.
A vision of this Dark Lord and Edward Spellman, some sort of disagreement between the two of them. Perhaps this devil was trying to get someone or something on his side to overcome Spellman's challenge.
That's all it took for it to click in your head.
Then you got angry. At this devil for his tricks, at Jinette for putting you in this mess without sufficient warning, and most of all…at yourself for falling for it all.
You looked back at Gabriel, unable to admit that you’d fucked up.
"Ok but you could have just saved me you know," you snarked at him instead.
Gabriel’s mouth quirked in his rendition of a smile. Some pseudo expression that made him seem human for a fraction of a second.
"It'll all make sense one day.” It was said the way a parent would to a curious toddler. Gabriel looked away from you to some middle distance, through the wall of the cell, and then gestured at the devil. "Would you like to take care of this?”
You rolled your eyes at him then pushed yourself to your feet, much to the protest of the devil, who simply conjured more hellfire to try and burn you alive.
You let it singe you, let it touch your skin to ignite the fire of your own. A spiteful, smiting fire, much like you had emitted the day you found out Eddie died.
"And if I told you he was alive?" the devil asked, shrinking away as you raised your hand to banish him. "Eddie. He's alive."
You hesitated but shook off any effect his lies had on you.
"Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue," you quoted and then leant closer to him to whisper. "That's Shakespeare, if you wanna tell your friend Blackwood to experience some mortal things before I come knocking again."
The hellfire licked at you again and from it you sparked a pure and holy flame, and with the heat and pressure of a supernova, the Witch's cell was consumed. All the dark corners were illuminated, the evil spirits that lurked there expelled, and you heard the devil scream as he was sent back to the depths of Hell once more.
You were alone when the fire dissipated.
Gabriel was gone.
Even Eddie’s ghost didn’t dare show himself, and you were grateful.
Your footing faltered and you fell against the wall of the cell, grateful for it to be over. You took several deep breaths before the pain and weariness in your body—in your soul—got the best of you.
Then you cried. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs echoed in the stone chamber, as you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and self soothe. This moment was for you. It was full of mourning and self-hatred and fear and relief that you hadn’t given in in that moment of weakness.
Your respite didn't last long, however, because the door to the cell creaked open again. You startled and scrambled to stand tall, confidently, unwilling to let the witches get the best of you again.
Only to find the kind eyes of Edward Spellman on the other side.
November 6, 1983
He stared in confusion, ignoring the bites and slashes from the masses around him, as the pair of eyes became more tangible in the rolling, smoky clouds up above. A flash of lighting was a blink...or maybe a glint of curiosity in their gold-and-shadowy depths.
Just eyes. Nothing else.
It was a curious thing.
They watched him.
And he watched them back.
It would be easy to blame you for this, just like he'd tried to convince himself to blame you for the whispers. But you were silent; no gloating or even warning.
Actually, if he paid attention, he could hear you hiding in the pit, little prayers being muttered fearfully.
There was a surge of protectiveness that shot through him at the realization that you were afraid. He figured that as annoying as you were to him, he'd really never seen you affect the rest of the world in many more ways than plucking the strings of his guitar. Conversely, the world shouldn't affect you either; your warnings were for him and him alone. If he ceased to exist, so would you, right?
So why did those eyes scare you? And why were they watching him in the first place?
His head fell to the side in a confused tilt and the eyes seemed to blink at him.
He snarled and the eyes blinked again.
Then in the distance, the proto-Mindflayer shuttered to life and squawked. It was a sad and pathetic sound, and he would have laughed; however, in response to the cry, the army of creatures that had taken up arms against him screeched in tandem. They released their holds on him, their jaws becoming loose so they could contribute to the flurry of sounds.
Louder and louder until it was a deafening wail.
Until it brought Eddie to his knees.
He was not meant to kneel.
That was the first thought he had; Henry had made him to tower over his enemies, to intimidate them before he slaughtered them. His servitude to his master was not by force, it was willing.
He'd given up so much for a chance to live.
Given up his soul.
"Heaven," you muttered sadly inside of him before delving back into prayer to your non-existent god. He growled at the thought, at your incessant murmuring deep within him.
Eddie Munson wasn't going to heaven; it was a laughable thought, actually.
He struggled back to his feet, feeling like he was underwater again with the weight of a thousand oceans on his shoulders. He steeled himself against the wails and the screams, the whispers and the feelings they all drummed up inside of him.
He'd chosen this.
This was his path.
And nothing would make him deviate from it.
Not you, not some would-be-usurping monster made from the parts of recalcitrant beasts, and certainly not some eyes in the sky that made him doubt himself.
He closed his own eyes to the world, closed himself off from all of it; he even tried to close himself off from you, but he couldn't escape you no matter how much he tried, so he just ignored your words. He would deal with you later.
If some meddlesome minder thought that tricks could be used to turn him against his master, he could use tricks of his own. A trick Henry himself showed him--whether he intended to or not--through the Hive Mind.
It started as a spark, not in his heart or in his fingers...in his mind. He envisioned it. Red and crackling, like the lightning that illuminated the skies of the Upside Down. The skies of his home. So different than the lightning that crashed up above and made those eyes blink and wink at him.
Red like a glowing ember.
Red like blood.
Red like his guitar, the vibrations twanging through him as he plucked the string.
He harnessed those imagined vibrations, imagined lightning, and then cast it outwards from him.
He felt the devastation before he heard it or saw it; just like the static wave that had cut him off from the collective consciousness, his attack on the beasts stunned them, then shocked them.
Eviscerated them.
Every wave of electricity he cast was full of emotion, as though he was purging every human feeling he didn't think he had anymore. It was retribution and pain and justice; grief and regret and loneliness. And when it all poured out of him, when the wails stopped, he opened his eyes to an empty battlefield.
The bodies had turned to stone and then the stone had weathered into dust.
There was a rumbling overhead and Eddie looked up with a wretched, wicked, victorious grin.
Henry would be proud of him.
The eyes blinked again, and then lightning crashed from the clouds that made them up, right down onto the ground before him.
One bolt after another. Never touching him. Just dotting the ground with craters.
Like teardrops.
Until the skies roiled once again and the eyes disappeared.
All with one last whisper on the wind.
"Help me..."
November 14, 1986
Mr. Spellman--Edward, he insisted, but you simply refused--escorted you out of the Witch’s Cell and the Academy of Unseen Arts and then took you back to Greendale.
“In a car,” you observed as he led you to his vehicle.
“How else?” He questioned with a furrowed brow and then reached into the backseat to grab a lovingly-crocheted shawl to hand to you. "I'll return your belongings to you once I find their whereabouts; Faustus was only protecting our congregation when..."
He faltered with his words, and you knew that he was trying to find an excuse for something that might otherwise be inexcusable.
"It's alright," you stopped him and took the shawl. You wrapped it around your bare shoulders. You pulled it around you tightly and inhaled; it smelled like aromatic herbs with an undertone of...formaldehyde? "I understand. Maybe, uh, the stripping isn't necessary next time he tries to catch and torture someone huh?"
"Would you believe it if I said that it's a tradition?" he offered apologetically. "Those who make a deal with the Dark Lord often see it...almost as a rite of marriage."
He laughed as you wrinkled your nose in distaste.
"Maybe some traditions need to change," you challenged him.
He gave you space and time, several days actually, to rest and heal and recollect yourself before he invited you to his home--a mortuary, which would explain the formaldehyde--to discuss your visit to Greendale. You shared your story, willingly this time--about the Knights and the Holy Order and about your curse--while he shared stories about the Church of Night and the Academy, about their beliefs and how he constantly pushed to know more, believe more.
Then you both discussed how you might work together to ensure you'd never need to come back again.
"It's a great meeting of the minds," he exclaimed, more enthusiastic than you might ever be. "A meeting of worlds."
You couldn't deny him that enthusiasm, especially when he'd been kind enough to welcome you into his home. His sister Hilda even brought tea and cookies for the two of you. But you knew that Jinette and the Order would probably kill you if things didn't change in Greendale and soon.
"A meeting about the demon you worship or the kids who are dying at the Academy under your watch Mr. Spellman," you policed him.
You weren't even surprised when he agreed with you.
"You mentioned traditions needing to change. The Harrowing isn't even one of our most archaic traditions but it is one of the many traditions that I'm keen to abandon," he explained, scribbling something down in a nearby journal. You didn't ask what some of the other traditions the Church of Knight kept; you knew that you probably wouldn't be too keen on them either.
But he seemed genuine enough.
"As for the Dark Lord," he continued. "I've known for some time that he isn't really Lucifer Morningstar. But it wouldn't do for me to try and convince anyone of it. What else is there to drive our beliefs? I suppose plenty of things but...to change an entire system takes time. Besides...well...it's all relative, isn't it? To us, your deity is The False God. No matter how much hope and comfort he gives you."
You knew that Mr. Spellman was generalizing...but when was the last time God had ever brought you comfort? Had He ever?
"Maybe He is The False God," you agreed. "Maybe neither of them are truly worthy of any worship; they all have their flaws."
"Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit," he quoted.
"And wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad," you finished for him with a snort. "My boyfriend says that all the time when he and his friends play DnD. He..."
And then you caught yourself, and Mr. Spellman caught you too. He watched you with a knowing gaze.
"He..." you frowned. "He..."
"He came with you to Greendale," Mr. Spellman finished for you. "Even if you don't want to admit that he did. He goes with you everywhere. Doesn't he?"
"He does."
"When did he die?"
"Back in March."
"And do you want him gone?"
"I think," you paused and wrung your hands together.
What a strange question for him to ask...but it still got you thinking. Was it better to carry this grief with you for the rest of your life? To carry his ghost with you everywhere you went? Clearly, if your time in Greendale had been an indicator, Eddie and your grief could be used against you.
But what was the alternative? Being alone? You knew he wasn't there...but wasn't he there?
What was a ghost, but a wish...
"I think," you finally continued with your answer. "Eddie is a part of me now in a way that I can never ever...I don't even know if recover from is the right phrase. I don't think I even want to recover from it. He's going to be a part of me until I reunite with him again."
"In Heaven?"
"In Heaven. Or in Hell."
November 6, 1983
Eddie returned to Henry, triumphant.
It had been a relief once he'd returned to Hawkins and the hive mind seemingly clicked back into place. Henry had been the first to greet him when it did, demanding to see him in the flesh and, hopefully, celebrate such a big victory.
But when he opened his mind to his master, fully intent on letting him see everything--
The self-cannibalism of the unruly creatures, his destruction of them and finally, you deep down in the pit within him, whispering into his ear the whole time.
--Henry, surprisingly, did no such thing.
There was pride, but also boredom. He would see that his request was fulfilled, but beyond that? Well what good was praise when success was the expectation.
"Rest," Henry groaned and then settled back into his own convalescence, without much care to the state of his beast. "You will find battle again soon; for now, rest."
Eddie twitched apprehensively at those words, at the dismissal, as he took to the skies once again to follow his master's orders.
But something was missing. He needed answers, he needed to deliver a full recount of the incident, he needed to ensure that this would never happen again because he knew the consequences would be dire.
He was Henry's right hand; why didn't his master want to ensure he was successful. His reaction had been beyond trust; it had been indifference.
Deep down inside of Eddie, a little voice spoke.
Did it matter whether Henry cared or not? He was successful, that was all that mattered.
But what was the point of being successful if not to receive some sort of praise? He would surely be punished if he had failed.
But if he had failed, he would be dead. And he would have deserved it.
And if he had died? Would Henry have batted an eye?
He was just a thing. Henry's weapon, his sword, his beast...and if he lost...good riddance...if he lost, he was weak anyway...
Eddie roared when he landed at his destination--the trailer--inundated with all of the doubts in the world. Frustrated, because they didn't come from you, they came from himself. That voice...that was his own voice. Not yours.
His doubts in his master were his own.
But where had they come from? Why? Why now?
He was suspicious of their origin, especially since you were practically non-existent in that moment. In fact, he hadn't heard you since his return. Since he'd decided to reveal your existence to Henry.
The feelings of betrayal within him must have been because of you, even inadvertently.
"Come here," he screeched at you, clawing at his own chest almost an attempt to carve you out physically. "Answer me!"
But there was nothing.
Rage stoked, he stormed through the trailer and resumed the rampant destruction that he'd abandoned oh so long ago. Walls demolished, belongings broken. He would move heaven and earth to get you to respond to him, cause as much of a ruckus until you came to bother him once again, insult him.
Then he would...what? Strike? He couldn't strike you, couldn't kill you, couldn't be rid of you, even if he tried.
And then, in the depths of the destroyed trailer, he came to his guitar.
The guitar had started it all, hadn't it? The first time he'd played it was the first time you'd materialized. That was the first time he'd felt like Eddie Munson in an eternity.
But he wasn't Eddie Munson anymore.
He reached out a claw and plucked at a string, hoping that would get you to reveal yourself once again.
Twang.
There was a ripple.
Twang.
A disturbance in the pit as you clawed your way out of him once again.
Twang.
You were silent as you manifested, unseen, beside him.
It was silent for a while, as you both languished in the presence of one another. Eddie in the silent truth of your existence, you in the turbulent rage of his.
Until he finally spoke.
"What did you do to me?" he questioned.
He watched as the guitar sting plucked itself by your invisible hand, that zzzz of your fingertip against the texture of the string before the twang.
"How did you do that?" He didn't need to elaborate, he knew you knew what he meant.
It was easy to put the blame on you, for all of it, even though he knew he felt your fear in the wastes at the outskirts of the Upside Down. You'd been just as in control as he had been.
"We both know," you spoke into his ear, into his heart. "That wasn't me."
"But you are doing something," he rasped. "Trickster, fiend."
"Friend," you corrected him.
There was a pang where his heart should be once again.
But you were more than friend, weren't you. You were a part of his heart, a part of his soul--
He roared at the thought and lashed out, trying to claw at you futility, but you disappeared again and he felt you materialize across the room.
"I don't know why you're angry," you taunted him. "Because big bad Vecna didn't pat you on the head. The Eddie I know wouldn't accept such mediocre prizes."
"I'm not Eddie anymore!" he screeched and this time he didn't lash out at the space where you seemingly existed. Intangible and invulnerable.
No, instead he lunged for the symbol of you, the last symbol of his humanity.
The guitar.
He raked his claws down the metal of the strings, shearing them into pieces. He pulled the neck of it from the body, stomped on it with heavy footsteps.
The more he destroyed his previously beloved instrument, the more he envisioned your destruction. Just like he'd vaporized all of the betraying comrades, he imagined that he'd vaporized you. Each atom turning into dust, into smoke, the more he destroyed this last piece of Eddie Munson in existence here in the Upside Down.
It was quiet when all was said and done, and he let out a victorious wail to celebrate that silence.
He huffed and chuckled and dropped to his knees in relief that he was finally rid of you.
Finally.
But he felt the phantom weight of your arms circling around his neck, the pressure of your body against his wings. You softly caressed his cheek.
"Are you done? Did that feel good?" you mocked him.
A whimper escaped his throat and you sighed sorrowfully.
"I'm sorry Eddie," you nuzzled against the side of his head, breath caressing his skin and ruffling his hair. Even if you weren't really there. "But you're not getting rid of me that easily. I will always be with you."
“Real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts; they have to do with the menace of memory.”
— Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned
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